The Anarchist’s Arrow
by Slytherin Kunoichi
Summary: Being unprepared was the worst part of it all. Pandora--the beginning


**The Anarchist's Arrow**

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Being unprepared was the worst part of it all. They had thought they had an idea of what they were dealing with—_who_ they were up against. But it was like taking a shot in the dark—they weren't even close, no matter whom the expert marksman was. They had lost in a matter of hours, their world burning to the ground. Their lives crumbling beneath them, while their freedom was shattered.

They were forced into the tunnels, underground lairs and abandoned buildings; where some would hold onto hope alone in the darkness, and others welcomed the madness, fearing to live. There was a minimal water supply, and food was one of the constant worries.

The whole world went into chaos. And Clark had abandoned them all. Oliver had been there for that much. The fires had started by that time, and Clark had suffered a crushing defeat. Oliver bore witness to the affliction in his friend's eyes; the torment on his extraterrestrial-friend's face was clearly evident. But he watched Clark push himself up from the ground he was nearly buried in, standing with his back to his friends, to humanity. And that was the last time Oliver Queen, or the Green Arrow, saw Clark Kent.

In the short hours of the day that Oliver would close his eyes and actually allow himself to sleep, he's only plagued with the memories. He can still see Clark's back, he still hears the screams and cries for help, smells the smoke, feels the blood of his friends leak over him… He relives that day almost every time he closes his eyes.

And other nights, he re-experiences the other torturous days; where they had mobilized, and formed a resistance group, rebelled against Zod for the first time. Those were the worst to remember. The day he lost two of his teammates, his _family_. He always awakens shaking helplessly at the memory of their faces. And though Oliver had to lay their bodies to rest—he can't seem to bury the pain.

That night—the night where his shoulders felt heavy with the guilt over the loss of his friends, of other resistance members, was the first time she been alone with him since he had found her after Clark had abandoned everything.

She had entered his room, for once not tapping on the side of the panel of wood. Pushing aside the sheet that covered the doorway, she stepped inside, a large bowl of water in her hands. Oliver just remained seated on his mattress, staring off distantly at the wall opposite of him.

He knew it wasn't fair to close himself off from her, not when she had lost just as much as him; Lois, Clark, AC, and Bart… But he couldn't say anything heroic or uplifting. He couldn't summon the strength to give that bullshit, "think positive" speech. And he wasn't in the mood to go through the "remember the good times" conversation. He expected her to just sit the bowl down on top of the krait and leave him to wallow in self-pity till the bottom of his soul was as dark as his heart.

So Oliver was surprised when she was suddenly kneeling in front of him. She sat the bowl down on the floor, to the right of her knees, and then she dropped a cloth into it.

He wanted to tell her he wasn't going to talk, or wash at the moment, so she could just leave and take the bowl with her, but before he could open his mouth, Chloe had grabbed the zipper on his leather, and began pulling it down his chest. Once opened, she parted the green leather, letting her fingers skim across his skin as she directed her hands up to his shoulders.

She moved closer to him, lifting herself and then sitting down to straddle him as she pushed the now heavy leather, off his shoulders and down his arms. He hadn't anticipated this, nor had he foreseen how warm and soft her hands would be against his skin. Oliver didn't know if he should ask her what her intentions were, or if he should tell her that he couldn't do this.

Her right hand fell from his body, dipping into the bowl and fetching the wet cloth. Squeezing it tightly in her palm, she wrung it out before bring up to his shoulder blade and gently slid it down over him, down his chest, along his side and back up and over his shoulder, reaching behind his back. Oliver felt his eyes close gently as the warm water seeped over him.

Chloe leaned back, and unconsciously, he drew one arm around her to keep her from falling—or leaving. She didn't look up at him when his arm slung around her waist, instead, she kept her attention to the fabric in her hand, as she placed it in the water again, and brought it up to the other side of his body, repeating the same process.

No words were passed between them, as if she knew that was exactly what he needed. His head bowed forward, resting on her shoulder as she continued to wash the blood and sweat from him. And he wasn't even sure if he could find his voice to reply to her even if she had spoken up. His eyes fluttered closed as he felt himself relax against her, and for once, Oliver forgot about the helpless, and scared people outside of his room, and about the war outside of their sanctuary.

Chloe moved the cloth alongside his face, down the side of his forehead, stopping against his cheek. He knew what she was cleansing away, and he felt the need to break the illusion she had created suddenly, by speaking: "It's not mine," he mumbled against her shoulder, pausing before turning his head to steal a glimpse at her.

The hot cloth draped down his neck, and back over his shoulder before she replied: "I know."

Oliver felt his fingers curl and he grasped onto the back of her shirt tightly, "I can't do this," he admitted his fears out loud. This wasn't the first time he had ever felt lost, both as Oliver Queen, and the Green Arrow. But he was scared that he would never be found again.

She didn't look at him; instead, she removed the cloth and placed it back into the water, her arms falling to rest at his sides.

He only clutched at her tighter, fearful that she would leave him for not being the hero he had claimed to be, the hero she needed, the man every one needed to lead them to salvation.

Chloe pressed her lips to his temple gently before pulling away, "If you can't, then I will."

A fever of apprehension stilled him at her words, and his gut wrenched with nothing but disgust and contempt for himself. How could he place all the responsibility on her shoulders? How could he leave her alone to face all of the burdens?

They had been a team before all the world had cracked open and swallowed them into this pit of despair. He had moved from his penthouse, into her Watchtower, with upgrades and storages added for both of their convenience. When the rest of the JL hadn't been in town, they acted as a two-man team, and as time went on and their friendship grew, he had noticed he spent less time in Star city than he did in Metropolis, and he could have honestly called the Watchtower home.

But they were a team—he couldn't take her up on her offer and let her take care of everything, and support him when she had nowhere to lean herself. Even if she was strong, even if she had saved him and brought the hero in his heart back to his surface, Oliver hadn't allowed anyone to selflessly take full care of him since his parents were alive. And as much as he cared about Chloe, valued her friendship—he wouldn't be her burden.

Her hands roamed up his back, soothingly, as if to calm his doubts, "You can lean on me, place all your hopes on me." Her lips dropped to his shoulder.

He closed his eyes in response, feeling tears stain his cheeks. Her compassion coursed like a tidal wave from her to him. And he lost himself in her, feeling every part of himself come undone in her arms. The heavy weight was lifted off of his shoulders, and his body relaxed, falling back onto his bed. Taking her with him, she remained wrapped in his arms, her own limbs cradling him as well, even as he drifted off to sleep.

They had slept the entire night in each other's arms. Neither of them stirring nor rolling apart from one another, even as the red glare of their present fears pierced in through any visible cracks, lighting the dark room.

"Teach me," he awoke to her whisper of words.

His fingers ran through her golden locks, "Teach you what?" Oliver asked, still feeling content while they held each other so intimately.

She sounded strong and determined despite only being awake for a few minutes, "Teach me archery."

Oliver sighed, "Chloe… You don't have to." He reluctantly disentangled himself from her, "Last night I—"

"No," she stopped him. Sitting up and turning to him, her palm cupped his cheek and she pulled his gaze towards her, "I told you—I will do what you can't, when you feel you can't." Her green eyes were unwavering as she held his gaze, and Oliver found he couldn't refuse her, so he offered up a small smile in defeat, giving in to the unavoidable.

* * *

She was eager to start training right away—immediately going for his weapons the second they're alone in the basement of an empty warehouse, not far from their main hideout. But he only snatches them out of her reach, telling her they have to train her reflexes before he will let her pick up a crossbow.

Chloe groans, but complies with his demands. And the next two weeks are spent doing nothing but stretches, drills, sit-ups, push-ups, the whole works. He has her pinned beneath him, her left leg high as he leans in, guiding her leg to bend while he helps her stretch.

"Your body has to be as taut as the bow you wield," he tells her while he's just inches from her face.

She whimpers and bites her lip as he pushes her leg back, "Easy for you to say—you were born with that Adonis body."

Oliver chuckled at her, "Hardly. I know it's hard to believe, but I busted my ass to look this good."

Chloe snorted, "We don't need to bust my ass, I don't need your six pack."

"Maybe I want to bust your ass—" He slaps his hand under her cheek playfully, "Can you blame me?" His lips twist into a smirk as he stares down at her.

The corner of her mouth twitches slightly, "You want to find out if you can still use your bow with only one hand?"

A genuine laugh bellows from him, the first he's let out since before the red sun dawned the sky. And he can't help but be completely thankful for her. Because without her, he knows the world would just be darker.

* * *

"Just slide down already, it's not that hard," he hollers at her from the main floor of the warehouse.

Chloe scoffs, sending an echo of her annoyance riveting through the air of the abandoned warehouse, "Upside down? Do I look like Batgirl to you?"

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, "You can't just walk in the front door of Zod's tower." He glares up at her small figure clinging onto the top of the rope as if it were her lifeline.

"I was hoping I was small enough to try the air vents… "

He raises an eyebrow at that, "With a bow and quiver full of arrows?"

"Crossbow at least… "

"Quit stalling," he orders.

Chloe sighs and descends down the rope, gliding upside down as he had instructed her, the rope gripped by her hands, nestled between her thighs, and tight between one heel and her foot. Nearly halfway down the rope, her hands began to burn and she let go out of reaction, falling at least halfway, slamming down onto Oliver's body, knocking him to the ground as he attempted to catch her. Her head banged against his jaw, while he lay beneath her, groaning at the impact.

"I warned you," she scolds him, extending her arms, bending her elbows to push herself up from him.

He bites back a retort as he makes an attempt to sit up. His eyes widen when he sees her climbing back up the rope. And his heart swells slightly at her determination—her need to keep her promise to him. So he stands, ready to catch her this time, if she happens to fall again. But if there's a chance that he'll be honest with himself at all, he'll admit he's the one that might be falling.

* * *

He tried like hell to ignore the supple flesh of her hip as his hand gripped her, pulling her back against him roughly, while his other hand held up her throat. "Come on, sidekick," his breathing was slightly labored from their training as he spoke beside her ear. "Throw me."

Chloe struggled to lose his hold, "This is stupid. A Kandorian is not going to take me prisoner before killing me."

"A strong defense is a strong offense," Oliver replied, tightening his hold for emphasis.

She elbowed him in the gut before flipping him over her shoulder, and pinning him beneath the same hips that were breaking his concentration a few minutes ago. "Like I'm going to be able to throw a super-pumped Kandorian," she rolls her green eyes down at him.

"You may have a point, now get off of me?" His tone is short and clipped and Chloe notices, a flash of confusion dropping over her face.

But she doesn't move off right away, instead, realization lights in her eyes and inwardly he's groaning at the fact that his erection was just pressed up against her, greeting her through the very annoying fabric that continued to separate them.

"Been a long time Queen?" She muses, standing up from him.

Pushing himself up from the mat, he tries to subdue a miniscule of embarrassment, flushing his skin. "I can teach you how to wrestle that way too, if you'd like," he puts on his best grin. "But we'd have to add on a couple more hours to your classes." Inwardly, he's not sure he's entirely joking with her, as a part of him wants her to take him up on his offer. It had been a long time since he had been with a female, even before Zod's psycho reign.

But it wasn't even the fact that it had been so long for him that was causing his need for a woman to be beneath him, shivering in ecstasy. The blond in front of him was the cause for the sudden peak in his desire. Nearly everyday their bodies were pressed up against each other, whether it was while he was helping her stretch, or giving her basic combat training. He's practically memorized every curve he's cupped, and he's definitely been able to feel the difference from her soft stomach, to her now slim, and tight figure. And for a moment, he fantasizes taking her right there on the torn mat.

Chloe grunts in response, "Right, well I don't think I'll be seducing any Kandorian's either, so let's just stick with the plan, boss."

A smartass comment about how given her history, and how she had wanted to seduce a Kandorian before, he wasn't sure he should believe her—but Clark was a forbidden subject. So he erases the comment from his mind as if it never passed through it to begin with, and he moves to her side to continue their training.

* * *

She's angry with him, and he knows it. He can see it in the way her eyes look anywhere but near him as he leans off to the side with his arms crossed, while their medic stitches up her wound in the uncomfortable silence.

Once finished, the medic dismisses themselves after going over simple instructions for Chloe to follow in the next few days, and then they're alone.

"I know you're mad at me," he got down to the point immediately, trying to forget the medic had removed Chloe's shirt to do the stitching properly, he attempted to keep his eyes off her naked skin.

She shook her head, and he could now see in the dim lit room that her eyes were watering. He was by her side without hesitation, "Are you alright?—Did you pull out one of the stitches?" He knew that while her wound from being pushed out of the window might not be fatal, the fall could have been. He had been so close to losing her… And all he kept seeing was that scene playing over and over again in his head.

Her head shifted from side to side, "I-If I had found some sort of way to charge his power cell before the mission... Victor wouldn't have… " Her voice wavered and her words trailed off.

This night mirrored the same night he had to bury AC and Bart, and she had come to his rescue, being the shoulder he leaned on. And while he's just as affected from their friend's death today as she is—he's not the one beating himself up in a one-on-one death match with guilt.

Sighing, he pulls her into a hug, tucking her head beneath his chin and into his chest while repeating that it wasn't her fault over and over. But his words might as well had fallen on deaf ears, because she wouldn't accept them.

"If I would've just waited till I learned the crossbow before executing the mission, I could have shot them before—" A muffled scream that was sure to leave her throat feeling swollen later: erupted from her.

"Chloe," He hushes her and sweeps his hand down her hair. "You want to blame someone, blame Zod."

She doesn't argue with him, only clings to him harder without shedding a tear. "You're all I have left… "

He wants to counter that statement, to give her a reason or hope of some kind. But he can't lie to her. "Ditto, sidekick," her old nickname falls from his lips. "If you leave me… I—" He licks his lips, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. "Zod wins."

The comprehension of his words struck her, and she pulled away from him. "Oliver, no," Chloe shook her head in protest. "No—you don't just give up like that." She gave him a small smile, after her fleeting moment of panic, she doubts him, "You're not a quitter."

He realizes she doesn't see what's at stake, the real damage that would be done if he loses her. So he shows her. Leaning in, slowly wrapping her in his arms till he's cradling her, he brushes his lips over hers softly. And then he pulls back just enough to give her a small smile of his own, with comprehending sadness and despair before he walks out of her room and leaves her to her own thoughts.

It's not that he wants to leave—because he doesn't. He'd rather have her kissing him back while he laid her gently down on her mattress and claimed every centimeter of her with every inch of his body. But he doesn't want their first time to be like this, full of anger, sadness and fear, on the night of a loss over a loved one.

And even though it's the end of the world—he'd like to think they can at least wait for the right moment.

* * *

The first time she picks up a crossbow and almost hits the center of the target with her arrow, he realizes it's like watching his favorite wet dream…

She curses under her breath, and even though he's standing a few feet behind her, studying her form, he can still hear the muttered words.

"Relax," he tells her, but the command applies to his lower body as well. "You did just have those stitches removed." It's been almost two weeks since he had kissed her, and he's made her wait till now before he let her attempt any sort of training.

She casts a glare over her shoulder at him, "I'm perfectly fine." She turns her attention back to the homemade target twelve feet from her.

They hadn't discussed the kiss once, and he's not sure if it's because he caught her off guard or if it's because she doesn't feel the same. When they're alone, here training, she's all about business, and when they're back in the hideout, if she's not answering someone's question, or helping another, she's in her room.

She fires another arrow, just missing the center once again.

Removing himself from the wall, he closes the distance between them and places one hand at the small of her back, while he wraps the other around her abdomen, and tugs her against him slightly. Dropping his lips to her ear, he whispers for her to relax, again, and she shivers slightly.

"Breathe," his warm breath flutters against the shell of her ear. "Inhale slowly, and then release the arrow when you exhale," his voice falls to a husky tone.

Chloe blinks and licks her lips, and then follows his guidance; inhaling slowly, she then exhales and releases her shot—hitting the center.

Oliver doesn't even give her a moment to smile or celebrate, he's crushed his lips against hers before she can inhale another breath, and she gasps in surprise. He doesn't hesitate in taking advantage of her opening, and he slicks his tongue alongside hers.

He faintly hears the crossbow fall from her grip before she wraps her arms around his neck and her hands grasp onto his hair tightly. Encouraged by her response, he spun her around till they're chest to chest, and trails one hand down her side to cup her thigh before he throws it around his hip, and she melts against him.

His other hand rests against her cheek, stroking his thumb against the side of her face affectionately, while his other hand strokes the underside of her thigh seductively.

Chloe moaned into his mouth, causing his need for her to rise even higher. His hand falling from her face, slipping between them and down to the rim of her shirt, where he gives a gently tug, questioningly.

She jerked her lips apart from his, taking a needed breath and resting her forehead against his, "I won't be the reason you die."

He stares into her green eyes, as always, filled with emotion—longing, need, and desire. His heart swells once more, "Then give me a reason to live."

Her lips collided with his, and their clothes were torn from one another and discarded to the floor, at a speed that would put any Kandorian to shame. Oliver completely lost himself in her. From her feverish kisses, to her smooth, wandering hands that stroked and caressed him, from the arch of his back to his shoulders and down over his chest.

Oliver sprawled his own hands over every curve of her soft naked flesh careful to avoid where her stitches had been removed, while his lips roamed down to the hollow of her neck where he sucked on the supple flesh, causing her to moan again and grind her hips against him.

Before he could smirk in response she shoved him forcefully against the wall, and onto his knees where she leaned over, straddling him between her legs as she proceeded to lower herself onto his member. He was incased in her warmth a moment later, gasping at her heat that practically seared his skin. His eyelids fluttered closed at the contact. Being inside of Chloe was like seeing blue skies again.

She would be his savoir, his utopia.

Her arms wove around his back, the sharp edges of her nails digging into his shoulder blades as she began a steady rhythm, thrusting up and down on him, swallowing him in the depth of her wetness, over and over again.

His hips rose to pump up and into her, matching her pace as their labored breathing echoed in the dead space of the empty room. Sweat dripping down and in between their chests that would slide together with every inch that their hips met.

Oliver slid his hands to grip onto her hips as he tried to speed up their rhythm, feeling himself closer to his release every time she would grind down on him, embedding himself deeper into her than before.

Her pants were coming in shorter with his new and urgent strokes. He felt her body tensing as she arched her back slightly, her body shaking from the inside and out. He lifted a hand to cradle her neck and he kissed her breathlessly while he came down from his own ecstasy. His heart hammered against his chest, while they continued to catch their breath in each other's arms.

Their hands stroked the other's glistening, naked skin appreciatively with admiration as they held onto each other—still not ready to separate.

Three words were forming on his lips, but he wondered if he should voice them out loud. He hadn't intended to fall in love. Months ago, he was trying to push her away.

But like the anarchist she was, she fought him, and with her aim, she struck.

Oliver knew then that he didn't need to say the words; she had set her aim the moment she came into his room and washed the blood from him. Bulls-eye.

Chloe Sullivan didn't take any prisoners.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville, nor do I claim to own any other characters therefore owned by DC comics.


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